Time and Tide
by Rachel20
Summary: Jill is terrorized by a serial killer -- and gets some help from a young Will Graham!


TITLE: Time and Tide.

SETTING: For the Rookies, this is between second and third seasons -- when Willie was present, before Chris. For Will Graham and Jack Crawford, this is of course well before Red Dragon.

RATED: R (disturbing situations)

DISCLAIMER: Spelling/Goldberg Productions and Viacom Entertainment own the television show 'The Rookies'. Thomas Harris is the creator of Will Graham and Jack Crawford. No copywrite infringement is intended or implied. The author retains the rights to the storyline as well as any new characters introduced.

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The phone rang on Eddie Ryker's desk. Crisply, the lieutenant switched off the handheld cassette recorder he'd been using to record notes for an upcoming memo and picked up the receiver. "Ryker here."

"Hello, Eddie," a voice said smoothly.

"Hello," Ryker said, bemused and impatient. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Let's just say I'm an old friend."

The first trickle of fear ran down Ryker's back, but he kept his voice matter-of-fact. "Most of my friends have the courtesy to introduce themselves if I don't recognize their voice. I'm afraid that if you're not willing to identify yourself, I'll have to hang up." As he spoke, he reached for his dictation machine, held it under his desk and pressed "record", then lifted it silently up to the receiver.

"You don't remember me?" The voice was amused. "I'd have thought you would. I remember you. I remember a night approximately 15 years ago, when you took away everything I worked for. And I seem to remember telling you that you'd pay."

Ryker closed his eyes. "Sully."

The voice smiled. "Yes, it's Sully. And I've come back."

"What do you want?" Ryker demanded.

"Just as I said. To make you pay. And to show that it was a fluke, your catching me."

"What. Do. You. Want?" Ryker said tensely.

"A young woman is going to die tonight. If you're as good a cop as you claimed to be 15 years ago, you'll find her. If not, she dies, and it will be your fault. As the others were before you caught me, and as the others will be after her.

"But know that this one is special. At least I assume so. You kissed her on the cheek, and for her to let an old codger like you kiss her, there must be some sort of relationship between the two of you. Pretty girl like that probably could get kisses from anyone in town."

"Listen, Sully --"

"No, Eddie. I've run out of time for talking to you. And if I were you, I wouldn't waste time talking. You know what they say. Time and tide wait for no man." The voice paused, then chuckled. "That's right. Time and tide."

Ryker held the receiver to his ear even after he heard the click of the phone being hung up. He uttered a brief prayer, then hung up the phone and started dialing.

***

"Danko!"

Mike Danko looked up from the paperwork that he had been working on, along with Terry Webster and Willie Gillis. The lieutenant was standing in the doorway of his office.

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"Where's your wife now?"

"I don't know. Probably at home. Why?"

Terry called jokingly across the room, "Hey, Lieutenant, it's bad enough you have _us_ buried in paperwork here. You're not going to make Jill come in and do reports as well, are you?"

"Not funny, Webster," Ryker snapped. "And Danko, I am perfectly capable of dialing your home number to contact your wife. There was no answer there, and the hospital could not locate her. Now, tell me where else she could be, _now_!"

The rookies exchanged glances. They had never seen the lieutenant so uptight. "I-I don't know, lieutenant," Mike stammered. "It's her day off. She could be at the grocery store, she could be visiting a friend .... Look, what's going on?"

The lieutenant sighed. "Get in here, Danko. You too, Webster, Gillis."

"What's going on?" Mike demanded, once they were inside. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, Danko, I'm afraid so. Listen to this."

Ryker pressed "play" on his tape recorder, and the room was quiet except for the replay of the conversation.

"I don't get it, lieutenant," Mike said when it was over. "Who is this guy Sully? What's he talking about?"

"The name 'Bernard Sullivan' mean anything to you?" Ryker asked. Mike and Willie were puzzled, but Terry started with recognition. 

"He was a serial killer, late '50s." Terry answered. "He preyed on young women, some really sick stuff. When I was growing up he was invoked as a boogeyman sort of a character."

"That's right, Webster. He worked his way across the South and the West, and there were a lot of officers and FBI agents involved in the manhunt for him. It happened that I was the one who caught him, more through luck than anything else. I wasn't much further in my career then than you guys are now."

"Wait a minute," Mike exploded. "Enough of the history lesson -- are you saying that some madman has kidnapped Jill to get revenge on you?"

"That's what it looks like, Mike. Sully referenced my kissing a young woman on the cheek, and when Jill and I had lunch the other day I kissed her on the cheek when we said goodbye."

"We can't sit here! We have to do something -- find her!" Mike said, pacing the room restlessly.

"But where?" Willie wondered.

"He's challenging you, Lieutenant," Terry said. "He's daring you to find her, and in order for that to make sense, he has to give you a clue."

"Freaks like that don't have to make sense," Mike said bitterly.

"Let's listen to the tape again. Maybe there's something we missed." Willie suggested.

Ryker rewound the tape, and the men listened tensely. When it was through, Terry sighed in disgust. "Nothing. Maybe we should--"

"Wait," Willie interrupted. "There's something there. Something .... " he trailed off, and then shook his head. "Play it again."

Again, the tape played. As it ended, he shouted, "That's it! 'Time and tide.'" The others looked at him, puzzled. 

He grabbed the recorder from Ryker, rewound, and played. "Listen to the background. You can hear the ocean! 'Time and tide wait for no man.'"

Terry's eyes grew wide with comprehension. "The beach," he breathed. "There's a public phone booth off of Oceanview."

"Let's go," Mike growled, already on his way out the door. The other two followed close behind him.

Ryker watched them anxiously, then turned to the phone. He prayed they were right, and would find her, but he needed to be prepared if they were wrong. He'd start by issuing APBs on Sully and Jill, and then calling the FBI.

***

"Damn it, Willie, step on it," Mike said, leaning forward in the passenger seat.

"Almost there, Mike," Willie replied tensely, concentrating on his driving. He was already going 80 miles an hour, and for the tenth time was glad that he had convinced Mike to let him drive. He checked the rearview mirror to make sure that Terry in the other car was keeping up with him. 

"There! There's the phonebooth!" Mike said, pointing. Willie swung the car in hard next to the booth, and Terry pulled up next to him in a squeal of tires.

The men leaped out of their cars and looked around. They stood on the edge of a cliff, and could see the ocean in front of them, dark compared to the harsh glow of the streetlight over the phonebooth. They anxiously scanned the beach. 

"Which way?" Willie asked. 

"He probably has her somewhere not visible from the main road," Terry suggested. "We should to split up."

Without speaking, Mike plunged to the right, heading down the sloping cliff. Terry and Willie looked at each other, then Terry headed to the right, while Willie went straight down.

As Mike hit the beach, he turned around in a circle, trying to get a clue as to whether he was headed in the right direction. The beach stretched out on all sides, quiet and dark, and Mike wanted to hit something in frustration. She was here, somewhere -- she had to be! -- and if he didn't find her soon she'd be dead. As though a taunt, he heard the words "time and tide" repeat in his head. Tide, washing up, creeping in towards the land. He looked out at the water, driftwood, seaweed, floating in on the wave, the tide, and being drawn back as the water receded . . . and his heart froze as he saw a flash of white.

"There!" he cried, and ran into the water. Willie and Terry swung around from their positions and followed him.

As Mike reached what he'd first taken for seaweed, he uttered a soft cry, although whether it was happiness or despair he couldn't have said. It wasn't seaweed, but Jill's long, dark hair! He grabbed for her, to pull her out of the water, and felt like he was in a nightmare. This was wrong, all wrong. The angle of her head . . . and where was her body? Tracing down her cheek, her neck, he hit sand. With a growing sense of horror, he realized that her body was buried in the sand; he'd have to dig her out to release her, and in the meantime the water continued to cover her face, except for brief respites when the waves pulled back. Crouching in the shallow water, Mike began frantically digging at the sand around Jill's neck, trying desperately to uncover her shoulders.

"Oh my g-d," he heard Willie cry behind him. 

"We have to dig her out," Mike yelled, not stopping to look up. 

Willie set in to dig, and when Terry, the furthest from Mike when he'd called, arrived panting, he quickly joined in. Faster than Mike had dared think possible, Jill's shoulders and upper back were cleared, and he was able to wrench her upper body up and out of the water. He couldn't tell if she were breathing or not, but if she were, at least she was out of the water. Bracing her body against his, he continued to dig, muttering "come on come on come on." Terry and Willie remained grimly set on their task, and finally the efforts of the three men had cleared enough sand for Mike to pull her free.

Draping Jill in his arms, Mike raced towards the shore, Terry and Willie hot on his heels. When he reached dry ground, Mike dropped to his knees, laying his wife gently on the sand. Terry knelt beside him, but Willie kept pumping his legs up the beach, shouting over his shoulder, "I'll call the ambulance!"

"Okay!" Terry yelled after him.

Mike was oblivious to the exchange. He bent over Jill trying to discern the stirring of any breath, and felt for a pulse in her carotid artery. "I'm not getting anything," he said to Terry desperately.

Mike put his hand under his wife's neck and pushed up to open an airway. Placing his mouth over Jill's, he gave four quick breaths, and then sat back, anxiously looking her over for signs of breathing. Nothing.

"Should I start chest compressions?" Terry asked.

Mike shook his head. "Let me try again."

Again, four quick breaths. Stroking his wife's hair back from her face, he murmured, "Come on, baby. Come on, baby. Breathe for me."

As if in answer to his plea, Jill began to stir and cough. Blinking, she looked up at the two anxious faces over her. "Hey, look," she said in a weak, raspy voice, "it's the cavalry."

Mike's quick smile changed back to a look of concern as she began to wretch. Hhe turned her on her side to keep her from choking on her vomit, and when her wretching subsided, he cleared her mouth, then covered the vomit with sand. When he turned back to her, he saw that she'd lost consciousness again. Her breathing was ragged, and when he checked her pulse, it was still weak.

"I called the ambulance, and brought back some blankets," Willie said, running up to the group. "How's she doing?"

Mike shrugged, shook his head, lips clamped, not letting his gaze leave his wife's face. Terry answered, "She came to for a little bit."

Willie said, "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

Mike took a breath and let it out. "Yeah, Willie, that is good. Thanks for bringing the blankets. Let's get her out of these wet clothes, and then take her up to the squad car and try to warm her up."

Working silently, the three men stripped off the sodden clothing and wrapped Jill in the blankets. Terry briefly noted, as he unbuttoned Jill's shirt, "Her trunk's cold." The set of the other two men's jaw tightened yet more; they knew that was a sign of severe hypothermia. Mike lifted up her still body, and the three men set off, Willie leading the way. "I moved the car closer to here, and put up flares for the ambulance to find us." The others nodded, concentrating their energy on moving as quickly as possible. 

As they reached the incline of the cliff face, Willie once again sprinted ahead to start the car. He slid in, got the heaters going, and then reached across to open the passenger-side door. A few moments later, Mike entered the open door, Terry closed it behind him, and then Terry climbed into the back seat. The three men each took a deep breath at this suspended moment, when they'd done all they could and were waiting for the ambulance; Jill continued her erratic, shallow breathing.

Terry reached up and flipped on the interior light. For the first time, the men were able to clearly see Jill's face. Mike traced a finger down her cheek, and over her lips, tinged with blue. Willie said, "Cyanotic," and looked at Terry, who in turn looked out the window, hoping for the ambulance. While Jill was breathing, it was obvious that she was still oxygen-deprived and desperately needed medical attention. But the outside was still black, except for the flares surrounding the car.

Turning back to the others, Terry remarked, "We should call in to the lieutenant." 

Willie's eyes flew wide open. "The lieutenant!" he groaned. Even Mike looked up at the tone in his voice. 

"What is it?" Terry asked. 

"I hung up on him! When I called for the ambulance, he got on the line, and I just hung up on him. Oh, he's going to kill me." 

Despite the circumstances, Terry was amused at the predicament that Willie was in, and he turned again to the window to hide his smile. "Here comes the ambulance." he noted with relief. "And ... hope you've made out your will, Brother William, because I believe that's Ryker in one of those squad cars on the ambulance's tail."

"Oh, no .... " Willie moved towards his door, but Terry reached over from the back seat and held him back. "Better let me intercept him." Terry jumped out of the car, and waved his arms at the approaching vehicles.

The ambulance pulled to stop, and two men in white jackets got out. "She's in here," Terry told them. "Severe hypothermia, cyanotic. Near-drowning incident." They nodded and pulled a gurney out of the back of the ambulance and brought it over. Terry opened the door on the passenger side, and Mike helped the paramedics load Jill on to the gurney. They immediately strapped an oxygen mask over her face and rolled the gurney towards the ambulance.

"What's her name?" one of them asked.

"It's Jill. Jill Danko," Mike replied, walking beside the gurney. "She's my wife. Can I ride with her?"

"It would be better if you didn't, sir," the paramedic answered, as gently as he could. "Why don't you follow behind us?"

Reaching the ambulance, the two paramedics lifted the gurney inside, and as they worked Mike could hear one of them saying, "Okay, Jill, we're going to take a ride. You hang in there, and we'll get you to the hospital soon." Mike watched with worried eyes as the doors to the ambulance shut.

In the meantime, several patrol cars had pulled up, one of them indeed bearing a worried Lieutenant Ryker. He leaped out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop, yelling, "Gillis!" Terry quickly called to him, "Lieutenant!" But by that time Ryker had caught sight of Mike looking at the back of the ambulance and hurried over to him, with Terry trailing behind.

"Mike, how is she?" Ryker asked worriedly. "What's happened?"

Mike kept his eyes on the closed ambulance door for a moment, then turned and looked at the lieutenant with hard, pain-filled eyes. Ryker involuntarily took a step backwards. "Mike?"

But Mike had moved on and was looking at Willie, who had ventured outside the safety of the car and was standing by the driver's side door. "You ready to roll, Willie? If not, give me the keys." 

Willie said quietly, "Let's go." Then, raising his voice, he called over to Terry. Terry shook his head, looking at the lieutenant and then back at Willie. "You guys go ahead. I'm going to help them work the scene. I'll catch up with you at the hospital."

Willie nodded, and got in the car. Mike was already sitting in the passenger side, eyes staring straight ahead. With a roar, the car headed off after the ambulance.

***

Terry and Ryker followed the ambulance with their eyes, and then Ryker turned to Terry. "Okay, Webster. Tell me. How bad is it?" His voice trembled slightly as he asked the question.

Terry looked down at the ground and scuffed his foot. "It's pretty bad, Lieutenant. We found her in the water, and she wasn't breathing. Mike revived her, but she was still in bad shape. Weak respirations, cyanotic, hypothermic." Ryker closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

One of the officers from the other patrol cars came over and touched him on the sleeve. "Lieutenant? We're ready."

Ryker opened his eyes and seemed to brace himself. "Okay, Anderson. Bring the others around. Webster's going to give us a report." He walked over to his car and rummaged in the back. Coming up with a sweatshirt, he tossed it over to Terry. "And put this on, Webster. No point in you freezing to de --" his voice faltered, and then he started over, "No point in you being cold."

Terry nodded his thanks and put the sweatshirt on. The other officers gathered around him, and he began to describe the incredible events of the past hour. "Well, Danko and Gillis and I arrived at the phone booth over there. My car's still back over that way. We accessed the beach that way, believing that the call from the perp originated from that phone booth and beliving that he had not traveled far from the site that he'd taken Jill when he made that phone call. ...."

***

"This isn't the way to Memorial," Willie said, as he strained to keep up with the speeding ambulance in front of him. 

"They're taking her to General. It's closer than Memorial," Mike replied tensely. 

At the hospital, Willie and Mike followed the gurney carrying Jill. The paramedics shouted out her condition in medical jargon, and the awaiting ER staff whisked her away without even slowing the wheels of the gurney. Mike started to follow, but was held back by an ER nurse. "We'll report back to you soon. You need to wait here, though, while the doctors examine her."

The nurse looked at the two men in front of her and did a double-take. Taking in their soaked clothing and overall bedraggled state, she said, "Gentlemen, if you want to change out of those wet things, I can get some scrubs for you and point you to a hot shower." 

Mike shook his head, but Willie said, "Come on, Mike. It's not going to make her any warmer for you to be cold." Mike's expression wavered, and Willie pressed further. "You know that she wouldn't want you to be cold." Mike sighed and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. The nurse smiled sympathetically at the two of them and said, "Come this way."

***

Willie showered and changed as quickly as he could, but Mike still beat him. When Willie came out to the ER waiting room, he could see Mike slumped in a chair. Willie stopped to get some coffee, and then headed over to Mike. 

Placing a steaming cup on the table in front of Mike, Willie briefly put his hand to Mike's shoulder, then sat down next to him. "Anything yet?" he asked. Mike shook his head no, and hunkered down even further in his chair.

"She's going to be all right," Willie said, trying to provide reassurance. "She's strong. She'll pull through. You know that."

Mike attempted a smile, which failed miserably. "I don't know, William. I don't know a damned thing tonight. One minute my biggest concern is Ryker's stupid paperwork, and the next I find out my wife's been kidnapped. One minute I'm praying that I find her -- will give anything just to find her -- and the next minute she's cold in my arms and I'd wish her away if it meant she were warm and safe. I just don't know anything tonight."

Willie again put his hand on Mike's shoulder, racking his brain for something else to say. But before he could come up with anything, one of the ER doctors had emerged and was heading towards the two of them. Mike and Willie jumped up and went to meet him.

"How is she, doc?" Mike asked anxiously.

The doctor's face was grave. "Her condition is stable, but criticial. We're providing heated IVs to gradually bring up her body temperature, and we've put her on oxygen to restore her blood-oxygen levels. She has a sizeable bump on her head, so we're monitoring her for a possible concussion. We're also providing antibiotics, because she's at serious risk for bacterial pneumonia. But right now we need to wait and see how she responds."

"Can I see her?"

The doctor thought for a moment, while Mike watched him with hopeful eyes. Finally, he said, "Yes. On one condition."

"Anything," Mike said, barely able to keep himself from running down the hall. Involuntarily, he rose on his toes.

"As I said, we have your wife on oxygen. However, she's been fighting the mask, trying to take it off. It's critical that it stay on, so that she receive as much oxygen as quickly as she can. I can put her on mechanical ventilation, if I have to, but I'd prefer not to do that. It's more of a shock to her body, which is already coping with enough, and it increases her risk of pneumonia. I'll let you go back to see her if you promise to try to get her to keep the mask on."

"Absolutely," Mike promised, and the doctor indicated where Jill had been taken. Mike hurried off, and Willie returned to his coffee.

***

At the door of Jill's room, Mike paused, suddenly afraid. What if she'd slipped away while the doctor was talking to him? But he shook that thought away as foolish and approached her bed.

Sensing him there, Jill turned her head towards him, and with that turning Mike felt his own heart turn in joy. Even with most of her face behind the oxygen mask, he could still see her, could still tell that she saw him, and right now that seemed a miracle.

"Hi, there," he said softly, and stroked her forehead.

Behind her mask, Jill grunted softly, and she lifted a hand towards the oxygen mask.

"Hey, hey," Mike said, intercepting the hand. "You have to keep that on, okay? Doc says it's important."

More distressed noises came from behind Jill's mask, and her eyes showed conern.

"Shhhh, shhhh, baby, it's okay." Mike soothed. "We'll talk later. You're safe now, okay? All you need to do is rest."

Jill shook her head weakly, her forehead creased in frustration. Mike felt her frustration as well, but he'd seen the look in the doctor's eye and knew that this was no joke.

Jill's eyes widened as an idea ocurred to her, and she freed her hand from Mike's. Slowly, she put down the three outside fingers, leaving up her index finger and sticking out her thumb, forming an "L". 

Mike smiled when he saw that, and kissed her forehead. "I love you too, babe," he said warmly.

Jill shook her head more violently, and Mike felt almost comically taken aback. She didn't love him? But she was holding up the "L" again. "L" he repeated.

Slowly she fingerspelled, a skill that both she and Mike had learned on their respective jobs in order to have at least rudimentary ability for communicating with the deaf with no interpreter. 

"I." "E." "U." "T."

Mike finally realized what Jill was concerned about, and closed his hand on hers and kissed it. "He's fine," Mike said firmly. "The lieutenant is fine."

Jill relaxed a bit, but Mike could see that she was still worried about something. "The lieutenant is fine," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. "He's safe. And I'm fine. Terry and Willie are fine. Willie's out in the waiting room, and Terry will be here soon. We're all safe, and you're safe, and everyone's okay."

Damn! There was still something else. Mike repeated himself, stalling, thinking furiously. "The lieutenant's fine. He's okay. And ..." Suddenly it came to him. "And he knows what's going on. He knows who the guy is that took you, and that Sully did it to get back at him. Ryker knows what's going on, and he's being careful, and he's fine. He's safe."

That was it! Jill's forehead unpuckered, and the worry left her eyes. Mike felt a lump in his throat. "So you just rest now, okay, sweetheart?" Mike asked huskily. "You don't need to warn us of anything or worry about us. You just need to rest and get better. Okay?"

Jill nodded, her eyelids drooping.

A nurse appeared in the doorway, and Mike glanced at her. "Baby, I need to go now. I'll be back in the morning, okay?" But Jill was already asleep. With a last kiss of her hand, Mike got up and went back to the waiting room.

When Mike returned to the waiting room, he found not just Willie but also Terry.

Mike ran his hand through his hair and smiled at the men. "She's hangin' in. She's okay." Willie smiled back in relief, and said, "All right!" Terry clapped Michael on the arm and said, "Great news!" 

Mike ducked his head in pleasure and relief. "Yeah. Whew!"

"So, what now?" Terry asked.

"I don't know. I guess we go home," Willie said. "Everything okay with the investigation?"

"Yeah," Terry said. "I went through what happened with the guys, and they're combing the area for clues."

"Hey, thanks for taking care of that," Mike said, suddenly realizing how much Terry had done in the past hour.

"No problem, man," Terry replied. "Now, let's head home."

From behind them came Ryker's voice. "Actually, gentlemen, if you're willing, I'd like you three to come back to the station and give your statements." The rookies turned and looked at him curiously. He continued, addressing the group but not meeting Mike's eyes. "I know that you all have had a rough night, and if you want to go home, I understand. But it's my intention to catch the bastard who did this, and when we do, I want to bury him in the evidence against him. The sooner we take your statements, the fresher your memory and the stronger their utility."

The three men looked at each other, and nodded. Sleep could wait. As they walked towards the door, Terry tugged on Mike's sleeve, slowing him a half-step behind Willie and Ryker. With a nod towards the lieutenant, Terry said to Mike in a low voice, "It's killing him to think he caused Jill pain. Or you." 

Mike looked at Ryker's hunched shoulders, and thought about Jill's concern for the lieutenant, even as she herself was struggling to survive, and something in him melted. He said loudly, "Hey, Willie, if you don't mind, I think I'll catch a ride with the lieutenant." Turning to Ryker, he gazed at him levelly and said, "If that's okay with you."

Ryker looked at Mike, and smiled with relief at what he saw in Mike's eyes. "That would be fine, Danko. Just fine."

"Good. I have a message I need to pass on to you," Mike said, and as they walked out he began telling Ryker about his "conversation" with Jill. 

Willie fell into step beside Terry and asked suspiciously, "You have something to do with that change of heart?"

"Me? I don't know what you're talking about," Terry answered innocently. Then he gave Willie a broad smile.

***

The next morning, Mike showed up at Jill's room. The report he'd gotten from the nurse at the desk was positive, but he still wasn't prepared to see her open her eyes, smile, and reach out her arms for him. In two steps, he was across the room and holding her tight.

"Oh, baby," he breathed. Pulling back, he looked at her face, and traced her cheek and lips with his finger. The same gesture as he'd done in the car the night before, only this time her lips were rosy instead of cold blue. "No mask," he said, smiling at her.

She shook her head and smiled back. She had the plastic nasal cannula supplying her oxygen, but a thin tube of plastic under her nose was much better than a mask covering two-thirds of her face.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Okay," she said, in a hoarse, raspy voice, then winced, smiled, and put her hand to her throat. "Still sore, inside and out. But just very happy, and very grateful, to be here."

"Me, too," Mike said, kissing her forehead. "Do you want some water?"

She nodded, and Mike poured her a glass from the pitcher on her bedside table and held the straw for her. After taking a few sips, she pushed his arm away and said in a somewhat stronger voice, "Better."

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning down to give her a kiss.

"Yeah," she said, brushing her lips against his. "Oh, yeah," she sighed, and kissed him more firmly. 

Mike pulled back slowly from the kiss, and smiled at her, then sat down in the chair next to her bed.

There was a knock at the door, and Jill and Mike looked over to see Ryker standing in the doorway. "Lieutenant!" Jill said happily, and held out a hand to him. He came over and took it in both of his. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault -- "

"Shhhh," Jill interrupted him. "Stop that. I was there, remember? I know whose fault it was. And he was about three inches taller than you, 30 pounds heavier, and not nearly so handsome." She smiled at him and stroked his face. "So hush that. No blame."

Ryker smiled back at her. "Okay, honey. No blame. But we _are_ going to catch the guy who did this."

"I know that, Eddie." She didn't often refer to him by his first name, and hearing it now warmed him, because he knew that it was her way of reassuring him that their friendship was intact.

"In fact," Ryker continued, "there's someone here I want you to talk with. An FBI agent. He wants to get a statement from you."

"Now?" Jill asked, surprised. 

"Sweetheart, your statement is going to have important information. The sooner we get it, the faster we can go after Sully and the better chance we have of catching him."

Jill's face became tense, and her eyes drifted away. Mike, seeing this, quickly added, "If you don't feel up to it, babe, we don't have to do it now. That's okay."

Jill blinked and shook her head a little, bringing herself back to the room. "No, no, that's okay." She smiled reassuringly at Mike, nodding her head slightly that it really was okay. Then she looked at the lieutenant and asked, "Could I have a few moments alone with my husband?"

"Of course," Ryker said hesitantly, confused. 

"It's okay," she reassured him. "I just need a minute."

Ryker left and shut the door after him. Jill looked at Mike and asked plaintively, "Could you just hold me?"

Mike put his arms around her and held her tight. "Do you want to talk about this?" he asked softly. 

She shook her head no. 

He smiled a little, and said, "Do you just want to cuddle for a bit?" 

She nodded yes against his chest. 

He tightened his arms around her. "Okay. O-kay. I can handle that." He kissed the top of her head and held her close.

Jill listened to her husband's heartbeat under her ear, trying to shut out everything in her mind but his heart, his love for her. So softly Mike could barely hear her, she whispered, "I was really scared." Mike felt a lump rise in his throat, and pulled her closer.

They stayed that way for another few heartbeats, and then Jill pulled herself away. She smiled bravely at Mike and said, "Okay, let them in." He opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out she interupted him. "And yes, I'm sure." He laughed, and went to the door.

When he came back in, he had with him not only Ryker, but also another man whom Jill assumed was the FBI agent. He was a pleasant-looking man, about 5'11" and an athletic frame. He had sandy brown hair, and a roundish, almost chipmunk face. His appearance was mild, but his eyes were a piercing blue. 

"Jill, Mike, I'd like you to meet Will Graham. He's a special investigator with the FBI. He comes highly recommended by Jack Crawford, who was the FBI agent who worked on Bernard Sullivan's case when he was first arrested. Will, this is Jill and Mike Danko."

They shook hands all around, and then Graham sat down in the chair next to Jill's bed.

"Mrs. Danko, I'd like you to go through what happened to you, to the best of your recollection, and then I'll see if I need to ask you any more questions. Okay?"

Jill nodded, and gathered her thoughts. "Thursday afternoon, I went to visit a friend of mine, Diane, who lives at 2983 Oakhill Drive. I was walking back home, when a maroon van pulled up beside me. The driver of the car asked me for directions to the convention center. I started to give him directions, but he interrupted me and asked if I could mark it on his map."

Turning towards Mike, she said, "I know you'll be mad at me for this, but --"

Interrupting her, Graham said politely but firmly, "Please don't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"Please don't do that," Graham said in the same even tones. "Address all your comments to me. Not to your husband, or to anyone else in the room."

"Okay," Jill said, taken aback. She took a deep breath, gathered her bearings, and tried again. "My husband will be mad at me about this, if he ever hears about it" -- Mike smothered a smile in the corner of the room -- "but I went over to the van to look at his map. He's told me a thousand times not to go near strangers, but I'm terrible with directions, and I know that if I needed directions it would help me more to see it on the map than to hear it."

"What did the driver look like?" Graham asked.

"Short salt-and-pepper hair. Blue eyes. Taller than me -- maybe 6 feet. Muscular build -- maybe 195. No scars or tattooes that I could see."

"Okay." Graham nodded for her to go on.

"I went over to the van. The driver -- Sully, I guess -- reached beside him and pulled out a map. He got out of the van, leaving the driver's door open, and held the map out for me. I took it, and I guess I wasn't paying much attention to anything else. I noticed that he was reaching back into the van, but I was really conentrating more on the map. I was about to tell him that I found the route to the convention center, and then he ... he put a towel with chloroform over my face. It was so quick, and I scarcely had time to struggle before I guess I passed out."

"What's the next thing you remember?" Graham asked.

Jill opened her mouth, and then closed it. She stared off into space, her brow slightly furrowed. 

"What is it, babe?" Mike asked anxiously, but Graham held his hand up for silence. He fixed his eyes patiently on Jill, waiting for her to work the thought through.

"The map ...." she said softly. She looked up at Graham and said, "I need a piece of paper." Without a word, he took a pad of paper from his briefcase and handed it to her, followed by a pen.

Sketching quickly, Jill marked out a rectangle, some points within the rectangle, and a long, narrow loop. Holding out her diagram, she began talking. "When he gave me the map, I was looking for where we were, here," she indicated one of the points, "and the convention center, here," indicating another point. "But out of the corner of my eye, I could see he'd marked a route with blue pen, over here," indicating the loop. 

"Could you tell the specifics?" Graham asked.

Jill shook her head no. "The best I could do would be the general area."

"That could still be useful," Graham said. He reached for the phone and dialed the stationhouse. "Yeah, this is Graham. I need you to deliver some city maps to me at the hospital. Whatever you'd be likely to find at a gas station. Thanks.

Turning back to Jill, Graham said, "Okay, go ahead. You'd passed out?"

Jill nodded, reorienting herself in the storyline. "I passed out. And when I woke up, I was in the van. I'd been bound at the wrists and ankles with duct tape, and there was duct tape across my mouth. I struggled, trying to get out of the bonds, and this guy -- Sully, I guess -- started talking to me."

"What did he say?"

"He just told me to relax, calm down. There was no escape, and I shouldn't hurt myself. He made little comments about being back in California, the weather. Small talk."

"Could you tell where you were?"

"No. I was too disoriented. We finally stopped at the beach, at Oceanview."

"About what time was this?"

"6, 6:30? It was twilight."

"Then what happened?"

"He pulled me out of the van. He had a gun, and made sure he showed it to me before he tore off the duct tape. He said that if I did everything he wanted, he wouldn't hurt me.

"He took a bag out of the van. While he was in there, I checked to see what the driver's license was for the van. It was CL 5832, a California plate."

"Are you sure?" Graham asked.

Jill nodded. "I said the number to myself over and over, played little games with it. 'It's CL-ear that the difference between five and eight is three, and five and eight are two numbers.' Stuff like that." 

Graham picked up the phone and called in the number to the stationhouse, so they could run a trace on it. 

"Okay, go ahead," Graham said as he hung up the receiver.

"He sent me ahead of him down the beach," Jill continued. "We walked for a while, until we were under a small cliff. He told me to stop, and marked out a rectangle in the sand, near the water, about 2 feet by 5 feet. He took a shovel out of the bag and told me to start digging.

"I dug, and dug. I kept asking him to please let me go, please don't hurt me. He just kept saying that he wasn't going to hurt me.

"Once the hole was about four feet deep, he told me to stop. He told me to put the shovel back in the bag. While I was bending over to do that, he hit me from behind, and knocked me out." Jill's hand drifted to the back of her head unconsciously.

"What's the next thing you were aware of?" Graham asked.

"I woke up to water on my face. I was -- " Jill took a breath -- "I was in the hole. My body was buried in the sand, face down, with just my head sticking up." She smiled weakly. "It was sort of like when you're kids, burying people in the sand, but usually you do that with someone's body facing up." Her smile dropped. "And usually you do that away from the water."

Graham waited.

"He sat down beside me, and stroked my hair. I -- I was crying. I begged him to let me go. And he just said -- he said it wasn't up to him. And he hoped that I'd be okay, that 'they' would do right by me. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, and then he left me.

"I yelled, for a while. Yelled for help. But no one heard me.

"And then ...." Jill trailed off.

Graham waited. When she didn't continue, he echoed her softly, "And then?"

Lost in her memory, Jill answered slowly, as though from a distance, "And then ... the tide came in. First, I screamed between the waves, and held my breath when the water came near my face. Then ... then, I had to concentrate on breathing. I was so cold -- so cold! The sand, the water, all of it was freezing me, and got worse as time went on. I couldn't scream anymore; I held my breath when the waves came and breathed when they went out. And then I had to breathe out, into the water, and only had time between waves to breathe in. And sometimes I'd judge it wrong and breathed water. And then ... and then there was too much water." Jill's voice broke, and she covered her face with her hand. 

There was a choked sound from Ryker, and Mike went to his wife and gathered her in his arms. She took a few deep, shuddering breaths, and then pulled away from Mike. He ran his hand over her face, wordlessly asking if she were okay, and she nodded in return, her mouth set in a determined line. He sat beside her and tucked her hand in his arm, challenging Graham to comment on that. Graham maintained his calm demeanor.

"And that's about it," she said, forcing her voice to be steady. Mike, though, could feel her hand trembling on his arm. "The next thing I knew, I was back on the sand, out of the water. I came to for a little bit, enough to see this guy" -- she tilted her head towards Mike -- "and our friend, Terry Webster, and really the next thing I knew was when I woke up in the hospital."

"Okay," Graham said. "Now, let's go over a few points again."

What followed was a detailed examination of every stage of Jill's story. What did the van look like? Describe the location on the beach. Question after question. Jill did her best to answer them as completely as she could.

Finally, Graham said, "Just a few more questions." Jill wilted inside -- she'd already racked her brain to answer so many questions! But Graham was addressing Mike. "You're a cop, right, Mike?"

Mike was startled at a question coming to him, but managed to blurt out, "Yeah." 

"And your wife's a nurse?"

Mike nodded.

"Are you half as good a nurse as she is a cop?"

After half a beat, the room exploded in surprised laughter. "Hell, I don't even know if I'm half as good a cop as she's a cop!" Mike said.

Graham smiled warmly at Jill. "Great job. I don't often find witnesses who can provide such complete answers."

Jill ducked her head in embarrassment. "I feel like I just completed a master class for witnesses! But I guess after being around cops for a while, I already had some idea of what you'd be looking for." Jill became thoughtful again, and added, "And it's not the first time I've had to give a statement." Mike rubbed her hand, remembering with her about Cleve Andrews, Lee Borden, and the other statements she'd had to provide over the years.

"Okay," Graham said. "Time for you to rest your voice for a minute and let me talk. What do you know about Bernard Sullivan?"

"Well, outside of what I've just described to you from our little encounter," Jill said wryly, "not much."

"Bernard Sullivan -- or Sully, as he's usually known -- was a serial killer in the late '50s. Approximately a year ago, he escaped from a federal prison in Georgia, where he ended up in large part because of the actions of one Eddie Ryker of the SCPD. This is the first time since his escape we've had a lead on his location.

"He's originally from Texas, but has spent so much time on the run that he blends into any environment. His preferred victims have traditionally been women -- pretty women. 

"Most serial killers get off on the killing. Sully is a little different. He actually likes to maintain a distance between himself and the death of his victims. It allows him to justify the deaths, in his mind. It wasn't _him_ that caused their deaths, but some outside force."

"Like the ocean," Jill said softly.

Graham nodded. "Like the ocean, in your case. And also the police department, if they didn't reach you in time. Some of his other victims have been buried alive. One young woman was put in the crusher in a metal scrapyard."

Jill shivered, and was glad when there was a knock at the door, interrupting Graham's grisly tale. All eyes shifted towards the doorway, where Terry and Willie entered carrying a bunch of maps. 

"Ah, my liaison officers," Graham greeted them.

"Hi, there!" Jill said happily, glad of both the distraction and the sight of her friends. 

"Look at you!" Willie responded, bending down to give her a kiss. "You look amazing!"

"Thank you," Jill said, beaming up at him.

Terry handed the maps over to Graham and then went to Jill to provide his own kiss. "A hundred percent better than the last time we saw you," he proclaimed.

"Considering that at that point I was looking like a drowned rat, it's not much of a compliment. But I'll take what I can get," Jill teased him.

"You look as radiant as a sunrise. How's that?" Terry responded.

"Much better!" Jill smiled in satisfaction. "So, you've met Mr. Graham?"

"Met him? I'll have you know that we are the official liaison officers to the FBI task force!" Willie proclaimed grandly, straightening his tie with mock dignity. Jill made an impressed face.

Graham, ignoring the interplay going on, had been unfolding the maps, and now he held them out to Jill. "Do any of these look familiar?"

Once again becoming serious, Jill looked through the maps carefully, and pulled out one. "This one. This is it." She closed her eyes, visualizing Sully's map in her memory, then opened her eyes and picked up the pen again. Carefully, she circled an area of the map. "It was somewhere along here," she said. "I can't make the exact route, but this was the area that he had marked."

Graham took the map back. "This includes Oceanview as the endpoint. Maybe this other point is where he's staying." Turning to Terry and Willie, he explained, "Gentlemen, Mrs. Danko has a memory of this area being marked on Sully's map. Get copies of this made, and blanket the indicated area. Maybe somebody's seen something." Flipping through his notes, Graham handed over some information for Terry and Willie to copy down. "See if anyone has seen a van like this. You got the license plate number I called in?"

"We did," Willie said. "It belongs to a Peter Martinelli, who has a van parked out on the street but who hadn't realized his plates were missing until we sent a squad car over there. Wellington is questioning him to see if he saw anyone around the van."

"Okay," Graham nodded. 

The two men headed towards the door. "Hey," Jill called after them. They stopped and looked back at her. "Don't forget to come back and visit, okay?" she asked. 

Terry picked up her hand and kissed it. "You know it," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. Then, with a wink, he added, "But you know, somebody has to do the work around this place. The rest of these guys -- nice enough folk, but Willie and I are clearly the brains of the operation."

"I understand," Jill said confidentially back to him in a stage whisper. "That's why I've been trying to keep these guys out of your way, so you can get some work done."

With a laugh, Terry and Willie departed. 

Graham pulled some photos out of his briefcase. "Okay, in the name of allowing Officers Webster and Gillis to work unencumbered, let's keep up with our busy work, shall we?" He fanned out five photos in front of Jill and asked, "Are any of these the man you saw in the van?"

Jill looked at them carefully, and finally shook her head. "No."

The men looked at each other, surprised. Ryker said, "Are you sure, Mrs. Danko?" Graham shot him an annoyed look, objecting to his influencing the witness. But Jill just looked at them again and said, "I'm sure." 

Graham picked up a handheld dictaphone, and said, "What about this voice? Do you recognize this voice?" He played the tape that Ryker had made of the phone call from Sully. After only a few seconds, Jill said, "Yes, that's him. That's the same man."

Graham nodded, turning over possibilities in his mind. If Jill had heard Sully's voice, then it most likely had been Sully who had taken her and not some flunky Sully had hired. But why hadn't she recognized the photo?

Meanwhile, Jill had been flipping through the photos again. She picked up one and frowned at it. "This one," she said. "It looks like him, a little. But his nose was broader, and the shape of his eyes was different."

"Could plastic surgery account for the difference?"

Jill looked at the photo again, and compared it to her mental picture. "Yeah," she nodded. "Yeah, it could."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Graham swore, startling the others with his sudden loss of equanamity. "He had plastic surgery! That's where he's been for the past year! We've had everybody looking for the wrong face."

Graham jumped to his feet and once again got on the phone to the stationhouse. "I need a sketch artist at the hospital, now! And tell Webster and Gillis we'll be providing a new sketch." Graham grabbed the phone and called Jack Crawford at FBI headquarters. "Jack, he's had plastic surgery. We're getting a new sketch as quickly as possible. I'll telex it to you as soon as I can."

As he hung up, he whirled to face Jill and asked, "You can describe what he looked like to a sketch artist, right?"

She nodded confidently, but against her will her eyes fluttered. It had been a long morning of questioning, and she was exhausted.

"Look, can't this wait?" Mike spoke up protectively.

"You're tired," Graham said to Jill in a softer voice.

She nodded, shrugging slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know this has been rough on you. But we're running against the clock here, and I just found out that we've lost a whole day. We do need to get out an accurate picture as soon as possible."

Jill nodded and smiled wanly. "I understand."

Graham jumped up, pacing around restlessly. "Look, I'm going to go get some coffee while we're waiting. Can I get you anything?" Jill and Mike shook their heads no. Ryker shot a look at the two of them, and then said, "I think I'll join you, Will, if that's okay." The two men left, leaving Jill and Mike alone.

Mike reached out to stroke Jill's hair. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she answered, and sighed.

"You doing okay, babe?" he asked.

Jill nodded. "I'm just going to be glad when this is over," she said.

Mike pressed his forehead to hers, then kissed her gently on the mouth.

There was a bit of throat-clearing at the door, and Ryker entered, followed by Graham and by a police sketch artist. Jill wearily went through the tedious process of compiling a sketch -- making the face wider, the mouth narrower, choosing which of a thousand noses was the right one, then reselecting it after other portions of the face were filled in. It was tempting to declare the sketch "good enough," but she knew it was important and did her best to make it as accurate as possible.

Graham took the finished product and compared it with the photo he'd given Jill. As she'd said, there was a similarity. But she hadn't initially identified the man in the photo as Sully, and he doubted that any of the police officers and citizens who'd been shown a photograph of Sully would have identified the man from the sketch as him either. Damn!

He handed the sketch back to the police artist, and asked him to distribute it as soon as possible to the officers and the FBI. The man nodded and hurried out of the room, infected by the intensity of Graham's request.

"Is that it?" Jill asked, feeling ready to drop.

Graham chewed his lips, evaluating, and then said, "I'm sorry, no. There's one more thing."

"C'mon, man," Mike protested, "you have her statement, the sketch -- can't you let her rest now?"

Graham shook his head. "I wish I could, but there's one more thing I have to bring up. I'm sorry."

He hesitated, taking a breath. This was the first time they'd seen him be hesitant, and it worried Jill.

Graham glanced around the room, then deliberately focused his attention on Jill. "Mrs. Danko, in policework, there are two ways we can catch a criminal. One is by following after him. That's how 90% of policework is done. You go to a crime scene and collect clues. You find someone who knows someone. If you're not lucky and he commits another crime, you collect more clues there. And ultimately you catch up with the perp and lock him up.

"The other way is by leading him."

"No!" Mike said, jumping to his feet. "No way!"

Graham didn't turn to look at him, but kept his eyes focused on Jill. "You lead him by setting a trap, allowing him to come to you."

"Absolutely not!" Ryker interjected.

"In this case," Graham continued, raising his voice slightly over the men's objections, "we have a killer who is very smart, very dangerous, and also very mobile. We're trying to follow behind him, but he's got a hell of a lead -- even greater than we first thought. Last time he was free, he went on a killing spree that crossed seven states. He could leave town and disappear at any time now -- unless we find something to hold him here."

"Jill, no." Mike said, turning towards his wife.

Graham was relentless. "I think that you could hold him here, Mrs. Danko. And I think that's the best chance we have of catching this man. I can promise you that you'd have all the resources of the FBI protecting you. Would you be willing to help us?"

"No way!" Mike reiterated.

Jill's head was bowed, but from behind the screen of her long, dark hair, in a small voice she said, "Yes." 

Mike looked at Jill, stricken. "Jill, you'd be setting yourself up as a sitting duck!"

"Mr. Danko, I can assure you --" Graham started, but Mike cut him off. "Your assurance doesn't mean a damn thing to me when it comes to risking my wife's life!"

Jill closed her eyes wearily, resting her head back on the pillow, and said, "Mike, it's the only way."

"No!" Mike yelled. "It's _not_ the only way!"

Ryker jumped in, trying to calm things down. "Will, is this necessary? We've got the new sketch, the information about the van ...."

Graham looked grim as he said, "I know, Eddie. And bearing all that in mind ... I think it _is_ necessary. Unless we give him a reason to stay here, he's going to move on, and we won't be able to catch up with him until the next body turns up."

Jill winced at the reference to the next body.

Mike noticed her reaction, and the idea that Graham was manipulating Jill inflamed him further. "Whether there is or there isn't another body is not Jill's responsibility! My G-d, hasn't she gone through enough? I am not going to allow --"

"You're not going to 'allow'?" While Jill's voice had been quiet before, it gained new strength with indignation now. "When did this become something that you decided, Mike?"

"When it involves you risking your life, I think that I should have some say --"

"Like I have a say in you risking your life every day as a cop?" 

"You can't compare that. That's different!" Mike protested. "That's my job!"

"Fine," Jill shot back. "Maybe Mr. Graham can find some discretionary funds from the FBI and pay me. Then it'll be *my* job, and that'll make everything fine!"

"Wait," Graham interrupted, holding up his hands. "Wait. We're all tense. It's been a rough morning. Let me go put together a plan. We can meet back here at 5 and be able to discuss specifics. If you're not comfortable with it then, we can re-evaluate." Turning to Ryker, he asked, "Eddie, can you give me a ride back to the stationhouse?"

Looking at Mike's face, Ryker realized that Mike was dangerously close to losing it. While he sympathized with how Mike was feeling, he knew that such an explosion would do no one any good, so he decided to aid Graham's departure. "Certainly," he told Graham. But he couldn't resist signalling his own displeasure with the proposal by adding, as they left the room, "It will give us a chance to _talk_."

Mike followed the two men to the door, eager to see Graham leave, and closed the door behind them. With his hand still on the doorknob, Mike turned towards Jill, prepared to continue with more strong words on the subject of her acting as bait. But the words died in his throat as he saw Jill's hands over her face, her shoulders shaking.

"Oh, babe," was all he could manage, as he sat on the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms. Jill burst into full-blown sobs, and he rocked her softly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, holding her tight.

"I hate fighting with you!" Jill said in a choked voice.

Mike nodded and rocked her. "Me too, babe."

When her tears had faded to occasional sniffles, he tried again. "I'm sorry, Jill. It's just ... I just want you to be safe."

"And you think I don't?" Jill asked him, wiping her eyes. "All I want is for this nightmare to be over. I want not to have to feel scared anymore."

"Then tell Graham no," Mike urged. He kissed her wet, tear-swollen eyes. "We'll go away, okay? Take a vacation. Stay away until all this is over. How does that sound?"

Jill smiled sadly, and stroked her fingers on Mike's chest. "Oh, sweetheart, I'd love to go away with you! But where could we go, where I wouldn't have to worry about picking up the paper and reading about some other woman's death? Where I wouldn't have to worry about someone grabbing me on the street again? I'm not going to feel safe until he's behind bars," Jill shivered.

"We can get him some other way," Mike insisted. "You don't need to put yourself in the target zone."

"You heard what Graham said."

"Graham doesn't know everything. Just because he's FBI doesn't make him right."

"No, but it doesn't make him wrong, either. And in this case, I know he's right" Jill took Mike's hand and put it over her heart. "I feel it, in here. Can you tell me that you don't? Can you tell me that my freedom wouldn't come at the cost of another woman's life?"

"It wouldn't have to be that way," Mike protested weakly. 

"Mike, I couldn't bear that." Jill said softly.

Tearing up, he buried his face in Jill's neck. "I couldn't bear to lose you."

Jill stroked his head. "You won't," she promised. "You won't." 

Mike breathed in Jill's scent, somehow miraculously still there, under the hospital smell. Then he lifted his head and looked her in the eye. "You really feel like you have to do this?"

She nodded. "Yes. I really do."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Well, not okay-okay, but . . . okay," Mike said grudgingly. "Depending on Graham's plan," he added hastily. "If it's some crazy, hare-brained scheme, you and I are ditching him and heading to the Caribbean." 

Jill laughed. "Agreed!"

Mike kissed Jill gently, laying her down on the bed and circling her in his arms. "It's nice to agree," he said. 

"It is," she answered, snuggling next to him, resting her head on one of his arms.

Mike ran his other hand across Jill's shoulders and up her neck, then back down her arm -- lightly, because her skin was still raw from the sand. He had a question in his mind, and he needed to figure out how best to present it.

"Jill," he asked finally, looking at the ceiling, "is this what it's like for you?"

"Mmmmmmmmmm?" she mumbled sleepily.

Chagrined, Mike realized she'd been about to go to sleep. "Never mind, babe. We'll talk about it later."

"Mmmmmmm, no, it's okay," Jill said, shifting around so that she could see Mike's face. "We'll talk now. What is it?"

"I was just wondering," Mike started again, "if this is what it's like for you. When I'm out on patrol."

"Oh," Jill said. She looked away, thinking seriously about how to answer his question. This wasn't something they often discussed, and usually when they did they were having an emotional argument about a particular situation. "Not always, no. But sometimes, yes. When I know you're on a dangerous assignment, or when there's a cop-killer on the loose, or something like that."

"But it's different, isn't it? I don't deliberately set myself up as a target."

Jill gave him a small, rueful smile. "Do you think that matters to a cop-killer? You set yourself up as a target just by putting on a uniform. Do you remember that poor schizophrenic boy who was killing police officers?" 

Mike nodded.

"I never told you this, but I was happy when you were hurt by that car explosion. Not that I wanted you hurt," she hastened to add, stroking his cheek tenderly, "but at least when you were in the hospital you weren't a target anymore. I kept thinking about how you could have died that day, how you _would_ have died that day if Kellog hadn't been riding with you. And that was before I knew that you really were the target that time." Jill shivered.

Mike gave her a quick kiss, and she smiled at him. Trying to lighten the mood, she nudged him and asked teasingly, "So what's with the questions? Is it harder than you thought on the other side of the fence?"

Mike laughed and nodded. "Yeah, it is," he admitted. "How do you do it?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I guess I trust in you, and in the rest of the SCPD. And I think about how much I love you, and why I love you. And even though that makes me scared to lose you, it reminds me that there's more than one way to lose someone. And if you weren't doing what you love, what you feel like you have to do, then ... I would have lost you. I mean, you'd be lost." Jill shook her head, not satisfied with the explanation.

But Mike seemed to understand. Nuzzling her, he asked, "How'd you get to be so smart?" 

"Hey, I've always been smart," Jill reminded him. "I married you, didn't I?"

"Best day of my life," Mike said, suddenly serious again.

"Me, too," Jill said, and shut her eyes.

Kissing her forehead, Mike whispered, "Sleep, love." And within a few minutes, Jill's slow breathing told him she'd complied.

For the next couple of hours, Mike drifted in and out of sleep himself. So much had happened in the past 24 hours, so much sorrow and anger and fear, that all he wanted was to feel his wife's warm body in his arms. That had always made everything okay for him before, and he surely needed for it to works its magic for him today as well. But images from her story -- the abduction in the van, being knocked unconscious at the beach, and worst of all, being buried in the sand, trapped, as the tide came in -- haunted him. Finally he decided that he had to get out of the room for a little while. 

He carefully eased himself out of the bed. Jill stirred a bit as he slid his arm out from under her head, but soon settled back down into deeper sleep as he stroked her cheek. He walked quietly out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Out in the hall, he was surprised to see Graham in one of the waiting room chairs, with a crumpled paper bag in front of him. "Hey," Graham said. 

"What are you doing out here?" Mike asked.

"Just checking things out. Sightlines. Traffic patterns. General ambience." Tilting his head towards Jill's room, he asked, "How's she doing?"

Mike nodded. "Okay. Sleeping."

"Good for her." Graham gestured towards the bag in front of him. "Want a doughnut?"

Mike hesitated. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to socialize with this man, or how he felt about Graham's actions towards Jill. On the one hand, he knew that Graham was just doing his job; on the other hand, the fact that Graham apparently felt his job involved placing Jill in danger, even if only as a necessary evil, turned his stomach.

"Come on," Graham said, reading Mike's conflicting emotions in his face. "It's okay. I'm not the enemy here. We're on the same team. Protecting your wife, and capturing her attacker."

"Okay," Mike said grudgingly. Peering into the bag, he asked, "You have any chocolate-glazed in there?"

"Are you kidding? One left. Help yourself, m'man." As Mike fished out the doughnut and took a neighboring seat, Graham remarked conversationally, "Four years off the force, and I still eat like a cop."

"You were on the force?" Mike asked, surprised.

Graham nodded. "I spent three years with New Orleans' PD. Homicide division."

"What made you leave? Better offer from the FBI?"

Graham smiled slightly. "Not really. I actually left to get a graduate degree in forensics at George Washington University. I was trying to leave police work."

"Why's that?" While Mike loved being a cop, he knew it wasn't for everyone. But clearly Graham was an excellent investigator, and it didn't make sense that he'd want to leave that behind.

Graham stared off into space reflectively. "I -- I can get a little wrapped up in my work. My girlfriend thought that if I weren't on the force, I'd be easier to live with."

"Did it help?" Mike asked, and then, realizing how the question sounded, he hastened to apologize.

"No, no, it's okay," Graham said, smiling, waving off the apologies. "It was a good question. I guess the answer is that it didn't help, because my girlfriend left me about a year after we moved to D.C."

Mike looked down. "I'm sorry."

Graham shook his head. "Water under the bridge."

"So how did you end up with the FBI?"

"After I got my graduate degree, I went to the FBI as an instructor. I met Jack Crawford when he had a question regarding insects at a body site he was investigating."

Mike looked at him quizzically, and Graham shrugged. "Insects are a specialty of mine. Anyway, after that, he started asking my advice on other cases, and that led to fieldwork. Evidence is always fresher, speaks more loudly, if you see it in the field."

"Evidence speaks to you?" 

Graham nodded. "That's the best I can describe it. The killers speak to me, through their actions and evidence, and the victims speak to me, and sometimes just the environment. I get a sense of what the perps are like and anticipate their actions. So Jack made me a 'special investigator.' I figured I'd already lost whatever I'd been trying to gain by leaving the police force, so I might as well work with Agency."

"Weren't you worried it would consume you again?" Mike asked.

"I don't know if I'd say I was worried about a foregone conclusion," Graham said with grim humor. "But it's better. Homicide, I was always spinning my wheels against paperwork, bureaucracy. I'd have six cases on my desk and wanted to spend 24 hours a day on each one. I'd go crazy with all the different conflicting voices in my head. Now, I work on one case at a time, and take a break in between. Jack's shown a lot of trust in me, and I get the resources I need. Sometimes I wish -- well, I wish for what you have, Mr. Danko. A wife, partners in the field, a homebase that I cared about. But instead I have this gift, or curse, of understanding the criminal mind. And if I have to live with that, then my arrangement with the FBI makes it bearable. For now."

"It sounds like a hard life, Mr. Graham."

Graham nodded. "Sometimes it is." Then he turned and looked directly at Mike. "But I'll tell you this, Mr. Danko. What makes it worthwhile is that I'm damn good at my job, and that means that I can help people. When I say that I know that I can help your wife, and you, that's not wishful thinking or bragging. That's cold, hard fact."

Looking at Graham, Mike saw he was telling the truth. He opened his mouth to say something, not sure yet what it would be, when from Jill's room he heard a sharp cry.

Both men jumped to their feet and ran to the door. Jill was sitting up in her bed, her breathing coming harsh and irregular. Mike hurried to her side, and she threw her arms around him and clung tightly.

"Water," she gasped. "Too much water. Can't breathe."

"Shhhhhh, shhhhhh," Mike soothed, stroking her back. "It's just a nightmare. It's okay. No water here."

"Mmmmphh!" Jill shook her head and gave a strangled cry. "Can't breathe," she whimpered.

"Yes, you can, baby," Mike said. "Come on, breathe with me." He accelerated up his breathing to match hers, then slowed it down a little. "Like this."

Graham left, closing the door behind him, but Mike was too intent on his wife to notice.

"Come on, sweetheart," he urged. "You're okay. Just breathe." 

Gradually, Jill's breathing slowed to a more normal pace. Her eyes, previously tightly shut, opened, and her stranglehold on Mike's neck loosened. "Wow," she said weakly.

"Bad dream?" he asked sympathetically.

Jill nodded. "I was -- it -- yeah. Bad dream." She leaned against him, too emotionally exhausted to say more.

Mike adjusted the bed to a more vertical position, then slid behind Jill and pulled her back to rest against him. He kept his breathing slow and regular, and Jill paced her breathing to his. Mike gently rubbed Jill's stomach, coaxing her tight muscles to relax.

"What time is it?" Jill asked, reaching behind her to stroke Mike's face. She smiled faintly at the feel of his skin, bristly by now with five o'clock shadow.

Mike turned his head and kissed her palm, then answered, "4:30." 

Jill's smile spread. *Almost* five o'clock shadow. "Half an hour until the meeting."

Mike nodded. "Do you want to try to nap more?"

Jill shivered and shook her head no. "Just talk to me," she asked. She reached for his hand stroking her stomach and took it in her own hand.

Mike cast about in his head for a safe topic of conversation. "Ummmmmmmm . . . seen any good movies recently?"

Jill giggled and shook her head.

Mike smiled, warmed by her laughter, and said, "Well, we should do something about that. I think next week the university is having their Charlie Chaplin festival. Remember when we saw 'Modern Times' there for our fifth date?"

Jill laughed again. "And I laughed so hard I spilled my M&Ms on the floor?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Mike said, smiling at the memory.

"Nope," Jill said teasingly, "Don't remember it at all. Tell me about it."

Mike raised his head and kissed her cheek. "Let's see. Our fourth date was at that fancy Italian restaurant. You looked so beautiful and regal, I couldn't wait to see you again. So I looked in the newspaper for something, anything, that I could invite you to, as an excuse to see you again right away. And I saw that there was this Charlie Chaplin festival going on. I didn't know if that elegant lady I'd seen the night before liked Chaplin or not, but it seemed like a good reason to call you."

Jill smiled and closed her eyes, letting Mike's soft voice and the sweet memories take her away from the nightmare surrounding her.

But eventually the voice stopped. Jill opened her eyes, and Mike said, "It's five o'clock, babe." Checking the clock, Jill noted, "It's five-oh-five, actually. Okay, you better let them in."

Mike extricated himself from the bed, but Jill kept tight hold of his one hand. Why, she couldn't have said, since she knew that he had to go open the door. But she just couldn't bear to let him go yet.

Mike looked down at their clasped hands for a moment, and then did a little soft-shoe routine, shuffling his feet, passing her hand from one of his to the other and back again as he did a pirouette.

Jill smiled at him fondly. "Nut!"

"Nutty for you, milady." Mike raised Jill's hand to his lips, then placed it back on her lap as he leaned down to kiss her on the lips.

"Go," she said, pushing gently on his shoulder and laughing.

Grinning back at her, he went to the door and ushered in the men waiting outside. By this time, Graham had been joined by Terry and Willie.

"Well," Jill said brightly as the men settled themselves into various chairs or along the walls, "looks like the gang's all here! Wait, no -- where's the lieutenant?"

"He's at the stationhouse," Graham said. "I don't think Sully's going to follow after Eddie, but just in case, we have a couple of agents keeping surveillance on him, and he'll stay away from the hospital."

A shadow fell across Jill's face, both because she missed the lieutenant and because of the reminder of the danger still out there.

Remembering Jill's heartrending cries half an hour ago, Graham looked at Jill closely as he asked, "Are you ready to get back to work?"

Jill forced herself to nod confidently. 

Graham smiled at her in appreciation of her effort. "Okay, let's get going."

Addressing his comments to the room, Graham remarked, "I feel like last time we talked about Sully, I was doom-and-gloom about all the disadvantages we had. Now I'm ready to talk about our advantages, because we do have several. 

"First, we know Mrs. Danko's condition. Sully doesn't. When Eddie told me about what had happened, I requested for the hospital to not give out any information about Mrs. Danko's condition. We're fortunate that she was taken here, to General, instead of to Memorial, where she works and a lot of people know her, because there's less chance of someone accidentally leaking information.

"The next advantage is related to that. We know Sully's current face. One reason he's been so bold in informing us about his movements is because he thinks we don't know how to identify him.

"Another advantage we have is that we've been moving fast. I know it's been rough on all of you" -- Graham looked at Jill in particular -- "but it could pay off for us."

Graham passed around sheets of paper to everyone in the room. "This is a newspaper article I'd like to have run. I've spoken with the Courier's press office, and they can get it in their late edition if we get it to them by 7 tonight. Getting it in their late edition would be ideal, because the more time that goes by without a story, the more likely Sully is to expect manipulation. However, something in tonight's late edition is unlikely to raise warning bells for him."

Graham continued talking as the others read the article. "This article is the fishing line to reel Sully in. There are two hooks. One is an emotional appeal. You see that Mrs. Danko is described in almost fairy-tale terms. She's in a coma, like Sleeping Beauty. References to how special she is, how beloved she is. Sully has formed a bond with Mrs. Danko, and we're playing on that."

"A bond?" Willie asked.

"Yes," Graham answered. "Death is an intimate process. Once he knows that she's alive, he'll feel that intimacy besmirched."

"Wait a minute," Terry interjected. "You said that he didn't want to kill her, he wanted these other things to do the job. He was distancing himself from the killing. How does that fit with this 'intimacy' that you're talking about?"

"He was the last one to see her alive," Graham explained. "Whether or not he sees himself as the cause of her death, that's a privileged position. The intimacy of such a position has a strong emotional pull on him. He'll feel a loss of status that he'll want to recreate."

"By trying to kill her again," Mike said flatly, doubts resurfacing.

"Yes," Graham said. "But we won't let that happen."

"You said there were two hooks?" Terry asked.

"That's right," Graham said. "The other hook is appealing to Sully's practical side. The article notes that she's in a coma and we haven't gotten any information from her. If we've gotten no information, we don't know about Sully's plastic surgery and are looking for the wrong guy. He's going to want to preserve her silence." Looking at Mike, Graham added, "By trying to kill her again."

Mike looked back at Graham steadily. "But we won't let that happen."

Graham smiled slightly. "That's right."

"Okay, let's say this article runs. Then what?" Terry asked.

"We wait for him to come to Mrs. Danko," Graham said. "We'll have agents stationed outside the hospital, and downstairs. The reception area on this floor will be staffed by Janet, one of our FBI agents. Everyone who works here regularly will have orders to check in at the reception desk before going into Mrs. Danko's room. Anyone goes in without checking in, agents dressed as orderlies will detain them. If Sully does check in, he'll be found out at that point."

"What if he gets through?" Mike asked.

"He won't," Graham said firmly.

Mike got up and walked around. "You don't know that. What if he runs in and shoots her before anyone can react?"

Graham shook his head. "He won't do that."

"You don't know that!" Mike said.

"I do, though," Graham said quietly. "I know how he thinks. I know what he needs. He's no more likely to run in and shoot her than the nurse who keeps her IV going is likely to poison her. It could happen, but it won't." Graham stood next to Mike and put his hand on his shoulder. "I know." Graham said emphatically.

Mike gave Graham a hard, questioning look, which Graham met in equal measure. Mike rubbed his hand over his eyes, then nodded to himself. Remembering Graham's remarks about his history before and with the FBI, Mike mumbled, "Okay. Okay."

"Good," Graham said, patting Mike's shoulder, then moving away. Turning to Jill he said, "You've been pretty quiet. What do you think of this plan?"

Jill bit her lip. "Truthfully, it scares the heck out of me. But it makes sense. And I trust you guys. I know you will keep me safe." She took a deep breath. "I'm willing to do it."

Mike took her hand, and she smiled up at him. "So," Jill asked, "what now?"

"Well, from you, Mrs. Danko, I need for you to rest, and take it very easy." Mike smiled at that -- there might be a silver lining in Graham's plan! "I'm going to have an agent stop by this evening to set up a faux respirator. In the unlikely event Sully reaches your room, we want him to be distracted by equipment."

"Okay," Jill said softly. Mike squeezed her hand and said, "It'll be okay, babe. I'll be here with you."

"Yes, tonight, that's fine." Graham agreed. Mike and Jill both swiveled their heads to look at him quizzically. 

Graham sighed. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to make this announcement. "We need to make Mrs. Danko as tempting a target as possible. Having you here is a detraction, Mr. Danko. I'm going to have to ask that after tonight, you visit no more than 15 minutes every three hours."

"That's it?" Jill said, upset.

"It's compatible with a woman in medical distress, and it allows Sully to see you as vulnerable," Graham said gently.

Jill nodded, still clearly unhappy.

"Hey, we'll keep you company, Jill," Willie broke in with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

"Well, actually ... " Graham said, embarrassed.

"Oh, man ...." said Terry with a groan.

"Look, having a pair of cops in here isn't going to be any more inviting than having her husband in here. And I need you guys on the outside, working with agents and following leads."

"Okay, okay," said Jill. "No Eddie, no Terry, no Willie, hardly any Mike." She quickly wiped a tear from her eye and said as brightly as she could, "You all had better catch this guy quick!"

Graham patted her arm. "We will. We will." Standing up, he announced, "And that means I'd better get going. While the rest of you stay here and enjoy Mrs. Danko's company, I'm still on the clock. I've got to get this article over to the Courier, and make the staffing arrangements."

As Graham was leaving, he was stopped by Jill's voice. "Mr. Graham?" 

Graham turned back to Jill. 

"Thank you," she told him.

Graham's eyes softened. "You're quite welcome, Mrs. Danko," he replied, and then left.

***

The rest of the evening went by too quickly for Jill. Dan Harris, an FBI agent came by and set up a "ventilator" complete with mask for her to wear. The guys did their best to laugh and joke and keep her spirits up, but she was only too aware of the time passing. She tried to keep up with their conversation, but by this time her head was pounding, she was exhausted, and she was starting to wonder whether she'd made the right decision.

Noticing how quiet Jill had grown, and looking at the dark circles under her eyes and her drawn appearance, Terry nudged Willie and said, "I think we'd better be going."

"Oh, already?" Jill asked anxiously.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Willie said, getting up. "Graham's going to be on our tail to get moving first thing in the morning, and we still have paperwork to wrap up tonight."

Jill looked down, too disappointed to talk.

"Hey, it's okay," Terry said. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, if Graham lets you," Jill mumbled dejectedly.

"Come on," he insisted, "when has anyone been able to keep us out of a place that we were determined to get into? We'll be here, even if we have to enter the hospital with funny noses and fake glasses."

Jill smiled at that. "Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then."

With quick hugs, the two men said good-bye and left the room. Mike sidled his chair closer to Jill and stroked her face tenderly. "How're you doing, babe?"

"Okay," Jill said. "My head hurts."

"Oh, sorry," Mike said, withdrawing his fingers.

"No, it's okay. That felt nice."

Mike resumed tracing her face with his fingertips. Jill sighed, and her eyelids fluttered closed. She forced them open again.

"You should get some sleep," Mike remarked.

Jill shrugged. "I'm going to miss you tomorrow; I don't want to go to sleep yet."

"Hey, I'll be here tomorrow."

"Not for long, though," Jill reminded him, starting to tear up.

Mike furrowed his brow in concern. Jill seemed so anxious. "As long as you want, babe. As far as I'm concerned, you're in charge here, not Graham. And if you want to change the game plan, you go right ahead. You tell me to stay, and Graham will have to drag me out of here."

Jill smiled.

Mike smiled back at her. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"So, you ready to get some sleep now?

Jill nodded. "You'll stay until I go to sleep?"

"Hey, you're the boss. But I was thinking I might stay a little while after you've gone to sleep, if that's okay."

"I think that could probably be accomodated," Jill replied. She cleared her throat, then asked for another glass of water.

Mike gave her the water, then went to refill the pitcher. Walking back with it, an idea occurred to him. As he replaced the pitcher on the bedside table, he remarked casually, "You know, I was thinking maybe I'd crash at the motel across the street. Be a little closer, even when I'm not here."

"Oh, Mike, you don't have to do that!" Jill protested. But the sudden brightness that had illuminated her face when he first made the suggestion convinced him.

"I don't have to, babe, but I want to. I want to be near you." He brushed her hair with his hand. "Okay?"

She smiled at him. "Okay. I know it's silly, but I'll feel better with you there."

Mike reached over to the table next to Jill and picked up the ventilator mask, weighing it for a moment in his hand. Then he held it out to Jill with a questioning look. He didn't want to push her into playing Graham's game, but he did want to support her in her decision.

Jill accepted the mask and looked at it ruefully. "Might as well," she murmured. She removed her canula, then held the mask in her lap a moment longer. Looking up at Mike, she said, "Hey," and held her index and thumb up in an "L" shape.

Mike smiled. "The lieutenant's fine." Leaning over, he kissed her on the mouth. "And I love you, with all my heart."

Jill smiled back at him, running a hand through his thick blond hair. With a sigh, she picked up the mask. Just before slipping it over her head, she said, "Tell me about our sixth date."

"Our sixth date?" Mike asked. Jill nodded as she settled down to go to sleep. "Okay. That was the day that I took you horseback riding. The sky was bright blue, and the birds were singing, and you looked so cute in your jeans and T-shirt ...."

***

It hadn't taken long for Jill to fall asleep; Mike had no idea how long he'd sat beside her before hearing a voice behind him ask, "How's she doing, man?" Mike turned around in surprise, and saw Willie and Terry standing behind him. 

"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" he asked them softly.

"We had to go over some plans for tomorrow with Graham," Terry explained, "and then we figured we'd stop in and check on Jill. So, how is she?"

"She's good. She's good."

Mike got up, and the three men walked out into the hall.

"We were also wondering, maybe you wanted to stay at our place tonight," Terry said. "Might be a little lonely over at your place, so you're welcome to hang out with us."

"Thanks, man. I'm actually going to stay at the Seacrest instead. I'm just going to go home long enough to get an overnight bag."

"The Seacrest?"

"Yeah, it's that motel to the north, across the parking lot." Mike paused. "I think Jill's getting a little wigged about tomorrow. I got the feeling she'd feel better if I were nearer."

"I get the feeling Jill's not the only one." Willie said gently.

"Yeah, you got that right," Mike admitted. "I know that it doesn't make much difference, but I'll still feel better if I'm a hundred yards away, instead of across town."

"It makes sense to me," Terry said.

"Me too," Willie added. "But what doesn't make sense is you going home to come back out here again. Why don't you and Terry go over to the Seacrest and get checked in. I'll get your bag and bring it over to you."

"Oh, man, I couldn't ask you to do that," Mike protested. "You guys have been working all day."

"Hey, 'protect and serve' -- that's the motto, right? So let us provide a little bit of service," Willie replied.

"Come on," Terry urged as Mike wavered. "Let him do it. He hasn't been able to escort a single old lady across the street all week, and you know how cranky he is when he can't help the elderly."

Mike laughed. "Well, okay. But only in the interests of keeping you young'uns on the right path."

***

"Okay, thank you very much," Terry said, as he and Willie walked away from the young woman they'd stopped on the street. Although it was only 7:15 a.m., they'd been on the streets for an hour, trying to find someone who would identify the updated picture of Sully.

"What do you think? Keep trying around here, or move to another street?" Willie asked his partner.

"Let's go over a block. Maybe a change in locale will change our luck," Terry responded.

Crossing over to Bayview, Terry and Willie approached an older man opening up a hardware store.

"Excuse me, sir," Willie said, "have you seen the gentleman in this picture?"

The man wiped his hands on his apron and took the picture. "Yeah, yeah," he said, handing the picture back. "I seen him."

Willie and Terry looked at each other in excitement. "You have?" Willie asked. "Where?"

"Actually, I saw him about an hour ago. He was getting into a van, down at the end of the block."

"Sir, can you describe the van?" Terry asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

"Can I describe it? Sure. It was a white van, and it said 'Mario's Flowers' on the side."

"'Mario's Flowers?'" Terry asked. 

"Yeah. See the marquee?"

Sure enough, there was a large sign that read "Mario's Flowers" visible at the end of the block.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Someone might be in touch to ask you some more questions."

"Sure, sure. Anytime," the man said. But Terry and Willie had already moved on at that point. They reached the florist shop, but found it empty. 

"Sign says that it opens at 7 a.m." Terry said, tapping the glass. "So where is everyone?"

"I don't know," Willie replied, "but I think we ought to call it in." Terry nodded, and the two men hurried to their patrol car.

Willie reached for the mike and began his report. "This is Ludlow-7, requesting an APB on a white florist van, bearing the legend 'Mario's Flowers' on the outside. We believe this van is being driven by Bernard Sullivan, and should be approached with extreme caution."

As Willie was reporting, Terry leaned against the car, drumming his fingers on the side of the door, staring into space with a distracted expression. 

"What is it?" Willie asked after he hung up the microphone.

"I don't know ... " Terry said, his voice trailing off. He closed his eyes in thought, and then opened them, shaking his head. "I don't like it, man, I don't like it. Why'd he take that van?"

"He needed wheels." Willie answered.

"Yeah, but why not any old car off the street?"

"He's planning on carrying something?"

"Okay, maybe. But why _that_ van? It's too easy to describe. Anyone who sees it will be able to recognize it, even if they couldn't see the license plate." 

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

The two men stood on the street for a while longer, then Willie said slowly, "What if that was the reason he took it?"

"What do you mean? Like, he wants to get caught?"

"No, but maybe there was something about a recognizable van that he wanted. Kinda like a duck decoy."

"A _what_?"

"I used to go hunting with my dad sometimes. Usually, you want to be quiet, not let the ducks know you were there. But if you used a decoy, then you wanted that decoy to be heard."

"Okay, I take your word on that, Ranger Rick. But what type of decoy could Sully be planning?"

***

Bernard Sullivan was a patient man. Or at least he could be patient when he had to be. On the seat next to him was a large bouquet of flowers, ready to be taken up to Mrs. Danko at the right moment. And the waiting wasn't unpleasant. The florist's van he'd commandeered for this episode smelled pleasantly of flowers, and Sully hummed as he waited.

And, inasmuch as patience is a virtue, Sully was rewarded. In the soft light of early morning, he could see an ambulance tearing up to the emergency room exit, where several gurneys were unloaded. Grabbing his bouquet, Sully entered the ER hot on the heels of the gurneys.

Inside the ER, all was chaos. Gurneys being jostled into position, doctors and nurses yelling, patients moaning. Sully walked up to the nearest nurse and mumbled, "Flower delivery?"

"What are you doing in here? This is the ER!" she yelled at him.

"Sorry, ma'am. I must have gotten turned around." Sully shifted so that he was even more in the way than before.

"Well, turn yourself around right now."

"Sure, sure. I'll just move over --" Sully once again landed in the pathway of the medical personnel.

"Out! That way!" The nurse pointed towards a nearby door. "Just follow that hallway and you'll get to main reception."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry." Sully backed his way out of the ER area and into the indicated hallway. But instead of following it down to the reception area, he turned at the neighboring staircase and began climbing the stairs. Smiling, Sully congratulated himself for having avoided the reception area.

Entering the hallway on the third floor, Sully stopped an orderly and said, "Excuse me, I'm looking for Jill Danko? Flower delivery? Somehow I've gotten all turned around."

"Jill Danko? You're on the wrong floor. She's in 438."

"Oh, thanks. I must have mixed the number up in my head. I was thinking 348."

"But you need to check in at the desk," the orderly added.

"You got it," Sully answered as he headed back to the stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sully felt his body surge with anticipation. He would soon see the delightful Mrs. Danko again!

At the fourth floor, Sully entered and scoped out the area. He considered heading directly to Jill's room, but decided to go ahead and comply with the check-in directive. No need to call extra attention to himself.

Presenting himself in front of the desk, Sully said, "Excuse me, flower delivery for Mrs. Danko?"

The nurse at the desk looked up at him, held her finger up, and said, "Excuse me one minute." Pressing some buttons on her phone, she announced over the intercom, "Dr. Caspian, please report to Radiology. Dr. Caspian to Radiology."

Looking back at Sully, she smiled and apologized. "I'm sorry, I've been meaning to do that for the past half-hour, but something always interrupted me. Now, you were saying ...?"

Behind him, an orderly had turned from his duties organizing a crash cart and was casually observing the scene, but Sully didn't notice that. "I have a flower delivery for Mrs. Danko."

"Oh, right. You can leave that with me. I'll take care of that."

Sully weighed his options. He could press her to allow delivery, but again, that would draw more attention to himself. "Okey-doke. Have a good day."

"Thanks, you too." She dismissed him and looked back down at her paperwork.

Sully headed towards the elevators to go downstairs, but, glancing behind him, he took advantage of the woman's distraction to disappear down a side hall near Jill's room. Peering back a few moments later, he saw that the nurse had left the reception desk, and he slipped into Room 438.

***

"I'm calling Mike," Terry announced decisively. "When he checked in last night, we noticed that he can see General's parking lot from his motel room. Maybe he can see the van from there."

Terry headed to a nearby payphone, with Willie close behind him. Dialing O, he was able to get the operator to connect him to the Seacrest Motel, where he asked for Mike Danko's room. Soon he had Mike on the line.

"Sorry to call so early in the morning," Terry apologized.

"No problem," Mike said. He'd been up since five, so the hour of the phone call hadn't disturbed him. But the fact that the guys were calling at all made him nervous. "What is it? What's up?"

"I need you to check something out for me. You can see the hospital parking lot from your room, right?"

"Yeah."

"Look out there and see if you can see a white van labeled "Mario's Flowers."

"Okay, hold on." Mike put down the receiver and walked over to his window. Looking outside, he scanned the parking lot anxiously. Yes! There it was!

Mike went back to the phone and picked it up. "It's there. What's going on?"

Terry nodded to Willie, whose eyes widened. "Okay, thanks, Mike."

"What's going on?" Mike asked again. It suddenly hit him. "Oh my G-d, Sully's in that van, isn't he?"

"Look, don't do anything. We're on our way over there."

"Okay, hurry, because I'm not leaving Jill alone if that guy is here!" Mike slammed the phone down and headed towards the door.

"Damn," Terry cursed to himself. Turning to Willie, he said, "Let's roll. The van's there, and I think Mike's on his way to check it out."

***

From a half-asleep state, Jill heard the door of her room open and footsteps enter the room. "No, not yet," she thought groggily, but struggled to bring herself conscious to answer whatever new set of questions or tests that were being brought to her, either by Graham or the medical staff.

But before she opened her eyes, she realized that whoever had entered her room had yet to address her. Operating from instinct, Jill kept her eyes closed and her breathing slow. The footsteps came closer.

"Hello, my little lost lamb," she heard. Her heart jumped, and it was all she could do not to show her reaction. But she recognized the voice as Sully's, and knew that her life could depend on how she handled the next few minutes. She slowed her breathing even more, drawing each breath and holding it in a ragged rhythm.

More footsteps, and then a hand was brushing her hair back from her forehead. "It's good to see you again." 

Jill felt like whimpering. Where was the FBI? What should she do?

To her immense relief, she heard the firm voice of Will Graham saying, "FBI. Freeze." The hand stopped stroking her hair and vanished.

"Turn around, slowly."

Sully turned, his face showing puzzled innocence. "Is there a problem?" he asked. In front of him he saw a man dressed in hospital garb, holding a gun.

"Bernard Sullivan," Graham intoned, "the FBI is taking you back in custody. Lie down on the ground, face down."

"Bernard Sullivan? I'm sorry, you've got the wrong man," Sully said.

"Get down!" Graham repeated. "We know it's you, Sully. We can make this as hard as you want, but you're going back to jail. Today."

Sully took the measure of the man in front of him, and the look of innocence fell from his face. "So," he said. "You know." He half-turned to look at Jill, but Graham's voice stopped him. 

"You should really choose your doctors better, Sully."

Sully turned back, surprised.

"That's right. You thought the asshole who did your plastic surgery didn't have any other skeletons in his closet? We caught him on a drug trafficking charge, gave him a little push, and he rolled over on you so hard and so quick we could barely take down his statement as fast as he gave it to us," Graham lied.

Sully frowned, and then laughed. "So here we are."

"Yeah, here we are, and you'd better be down on the ground in another ten seconds or --"

"Or what?" Sully challenged. "You'll start shooting? I don't think so. Not with the little lost lamb in the bed behind me."

"I wouldn't count on that, Sully. But even if you do, there's no way out for you. I'm between you and the door, and I'm not moving."

"Really?" In a flash, Sully had whipped around, with a knife in his hand. "No!" Graham cried, visions of Mrs. Danko's slit throat invading his head, hearing Mr. Danko's reaction to finding out that what Graham had promised wouldn't happen had indeed taken place. But Sully's target wasn't Mrs. Danko's body, but her ventilator. He cut through the cord connecting the mask to the ventilator machine, and then turned back to Graham. The ventilator immediately began a loud, warning beeping.

"So now we're at a stand-off," Sully told Graham. "You're between me and the door, and I can't get out. And you can't shoot at me without hitting the little lost lamb behind me. But the thing is, as long as we're in a stand-off, the lamb isn't getting any more oxygen. Now, maybe I can't get out without going through you, but can you stand there and let her suffocate? I'm banking not."

"You think I'm going to let you go, risking untold numbers of people's lives?"

"To save this one. Yeah, I think so. So I tell you what. You slide your piece over to me. Then you'll walk out with me, and keep everyone else away. We drive off, I let you go at some unspecified point, and everyone's happy.

"But first step is to clear the hall." Gesturing with his chin to the people gathering in the hall behind Graham, Sully said, "Tell them to leave. Now."

Graham stared at Sully, undecided for a moment. Then he barked, "Everyone clear this end of the hall. Now!"

Sully smiled as the people in the hall melted away. This was going to work out fine.

***

Hearing Graham and Sully in conversation, Jill risked a glance, barely opening her eyes. The blurred vision confirmed that Sully had his back turned towards her, and she opened her eyes a little wider. Sully was definitely focused on the other man, ignoring her. Jill remembered what Graham had said before, about how they'd had an advantage in knowing something that Sully didn't, and she realized that right now she had an advantage. Her eyes swept across the room and landed on the metal water pitcher on the bedside table next to her. As quietly as she could, she removed the tapes keeping her IV in place.

***

Graham's heart was pounding, and he felt preternaturally aware of everything going on around him. Looking at Sully, he could see with his peripheral vision movement by Mrs. Danko in the bed behind him. Graham refused to let his eyes wander to focus on her; instead, he began speaking again, louder, and faster, to distract Sully.

"You led us on a hell of a chase, Sully. We've had agents across the country looking for you since your escape, and probably will again if you get out this time. Prior to your arrest, you killed a whole bunch of women, and if we let you leave here you'll probably do it again. So I don't know, maybe it's too big a risk to let you go." 

***

Mike headed towards the hospital as quickly as he could. He didn't stop at the van, although he was aware of it. His main concern was to get to Jill. If Sully was in the van, he wasn't sure that he could take him alone, and he knew that Willie and Terry would handle that aspect. But he wanted to be with Jill, who now seemed incredibly vulnerable.

Breathlessly, he entered the hospital, waving to the security guard on duty. He took the elevator to the 4th floor, where he was surprised to find a bunch of people clustered at the opposite end of the hall from Jill. He started towards her room, but was immediately called back.

"What? What's going on?" he asked anxiously.

"You can't go there," said Janet. "Sully's there, and he demanded everyone leave."

"Sully's in there with Jill?" Mike asked, horrified. It was what he had feared, but he hadn't been able to feel that was really a possibility until now.

"And Officer Graham," Janet answered. "He's there, too."

"That's not good enough," Mike answered, and took off.

***

From her bed, Jill scarcely heard the men arguing, as she concentrated intently on getting herself ready for action. Because the cord to the ventilation mask was cut, it didn't hinder her and she didn't bother to take it off. Once she'd slid the IVs from her arms, she sidled closer to the edge of the bed, then pulled her feet underneath her to reach a kneeling position. As quickly as she could, she reached for the pitcher, knowing that there was no turning back now.

***

Graham had been trying not to watch Mrs. Danko, but he couldn't help his eyes flickering back there every once in a while. Some combination of the eye movements, the change in sounds, maybe a sixth sense, made Sully nervous, and Graham could see that Sully was getting ready to turn around.

"Okay, fine, you win," he said loudly, snapping Sully's attention back to him. "I'll put down the gun."

Sully smiled in satisfaction. "Glad you see reason. Put it down nice and slow, and slide it over to me." Any doubts were forgotten, and Sully was interested only in the gun. 

Graham crouched and sent over the gun. He hated to lose it, hated to feel so vulnerable, but the die had been cast. He had to trust that Mrs. Danko would be able to take Sully by surprise.

Sully, in turn, knelt down and grabbed the gun. In the moment that his attention was focused on the gun, Jill leaned forward with the pitcher from her kneeling position but suddenly realized that she didn't have a good angle. At best, she'd hit him on the shoulder, and she couldn't even bear to think about what would happen in the worst case scenario.

She pushed up to a crouching position, knowing that it was useless, that it was already too late. Sully had the gun in his hand, and was already starting to rise, was already aware of her behind him. Time slowed down, and she could picture the next few minutes stretching out in excruciating detail: Sully would turn and shoot her, and then shoot Graham.

***

As he neared Jill's room, Mike slowed his footsteps. He wanted to appear casual, someone wandering by, and while he didn't know if he could manage that, he knew that running in there would only make the situation worse -- whatever that situation was.

The scene in Jill's room was impossible to understand, and impossible to accept. Jill upright on the bed, her eyes wide and frightened above the mask which was on her face but connected to nothing; Graham with his back to the door, and Sully -- that had to be him -- rising from a crouch with a gun in his hand. Jill's eyes were wide and frightened, and even Graham's back seemed tense. It was all wrong, and Mike did the only thing he could think of to do.

"No!" he called loudly.

Sully's attention whipped towards the intruder, and he lifted the gun and started firing.

***

Mike? What was he doing here?

Jill barely had time to ask these questions to herself when the gun fired, tearing her heart with fear. She wanted to run to Mike, to see if he was okay, but she knew that she couldn't. If she did that, they were both dead, and Graham too. The only chance of any of them making it out alive was for her to use this opportunity to make another attempt at hitting Sully. She'd been granted a second chance, and like many second chances, it was now double or nothing.

She scrambled to her feet even as the gun kept firing. She kept her eye on Sully's temple, her target, not allowing herself to look either to the hall, where Mike had been, or to Graham. Her line of sight remained unwavering, and when she thrust the pitcher forward with a hoarse cry she kept her eyes on that same spot, willing the pitcher to hit there.

It wasn't until the pitcher hit the mark, and Sully crumbled on the ground, that she closed her eyes. Her legs felt weak, and she sat back down on the bed. She was scared to move, scared to find out what happened.

She heard footsteps, but couldn't bear to open her eyes. Then she felt hands gently removing the mask from her face, and strong arms enfolding her. Mike was alive! She pressed herself against him and burst into tears.

"Baby, I was so scared," he whispered to her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded into his shoulder, shaking. With her eyes still shut, she asked, "Is he ... did I ... ?" 

"I'm no doctor," came Graham's voice, "but he's okay. Conked out good, but he'll be all right." Jill finally managed to open her eyes at that. She saw that Graham was all right, and had snapped a pair of cuffs on Sully on the floor. That double-or-nothing bet had come up aces!

Graham continued loudly, in part to cover up his own recent fear, "I need a medic down here! And some security, on the double!"

His request was met with the sound of thundering footsteps, and a half-second later Terry and Willie appeared at the door of the room. Graham stared at them in surprise, until Terry asked, "Someone here call for security?"

Graham shook his head, looking from the two rookies in the door to Mike and then back again. "So none of you three can follow orders?" he asked.

Willie gave his disarmingly innocent smile and said, "It doesn't look that way, does it, sir?"

"All I can say to that is ... thank G-d!" Graham said, sighing heavily.

"Amen to that," Jill added in a quavery voice.

Terry and Willie looked at each other and smiled. "Everything okay over there?" Terry asked.

Jill nodded. Mike looked down at his wife, cuddled in his arms, and then lit up with happiness. "Yeah, everything's okay." Rubbing his cheek against his wife's hair, he said, "Everything's just fine."

***

"Mike, come on, is this really necessary?" Jill asked laughingly, her hands straying up to the blindfold she was wearing.

Mike pulled her hand back down. "Sure it is! You don't want to spoil the surprise, do you?"

Jill stopped, causing Mike, who'd been guiding her down the hall with his arm around her waist, to stop also. "Mike, we're still in the hallway. You don't have a surprise in the hall, do you?"

Kissing her neck, Mike said, "No, but it gives me an excuse to keep my arm around you."

Jill smiled, tipped her head back, and reached up to stroke Mike's cheek. "Since when have you needed an excuse for that?"

"I don't know. Since my wife started capturing most-wanted criminals, I guess." Mike meant that as a joke, but regretted it when he saw Jill's face darken a bit. Jill had been in the hospital for two days after Sully's capture, something she'd originally been adamently against. But Mike was glad she'd relented. After receiving confirmation from the FBI, via Graham, that Sully was safely behind bars, she'd slept for 16 hours straight, and now she seemed, physically at least, in good shape. But emotionally, Mike wasn't sure. They hadn't had much of a chance to talk about how she was feeling.

"Besides," he continued hastily, "we're almost here." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then propelled her forward again. "One, two, three" he counted their steps, "and now stop."

He ran around her to open the door. "Don't peek," he said, as he put the key in the lock.

"I'm not peeking."

"Don't peek."

"I'm not peeking," Jill insisted, laughing again.

"Okay," Mike said, and took her hand. "Another one, two, three. And ... WE'RE HOME!" he shouted, and pulled off her blindfold.

Jill jumped a bit in surprise when Mike shouted, and then looked around with the blindfold off, expecting to see her friends, some banners, some balloons -- the usual welcome-home party tradition. Instead, she saw no one else in the apartment, but heard faintly a chorus of voices yelling, "Surprise."

Turning to Mike in bewilderment, she asked, "What's going on?"

"What's going on next door," Mike said, as he put some music on the stereo, "is a whole bunch of people who love you putting together the biggest darn welcome home party you've ever seen for you for tomorrow night."

Mike poured a glass of wine for Jill and brought it over to her as he continued, "And what's going on here is one person who loves you very much, putting on a private welcome home party." Handing her the wine, he said, "I thought maybe tonight would just be the two of us, if that's okay with you."

"Oh, Mike," Jill said, her eyes shining, "That's perfect. Thank you so much." Impulsively, she tipped her head back and yelled, "Thank you." She was answered with a faint chorus of laughter and applause.

Raising his glass, Mike toasted her, "To coming home." Jill repeated the toast, and they clinked glasses and drank. Then Mike took her glass, set both glasses on the table, and held out his arms. "Dance with me?" he asked. Wordlessly, she glided into his arms.

After a time, Mike said softly, "Are you okay? Are you tired?"

"Mmmmmmm," Jill sighed. "I could dance with you all night, Officer Danko."

Mike smiled. "I could go along with that. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't too tired." He nuzzled her ear, and then said softly. "Because if you were tired, you know, maybe you should lie down. In bed."

"Ohhhhhhh," Jill said softly. "You know, it _is_ my first night home. Maybe I should take it easy, and lie down after all."

Mike kissed her, and then swept her up in his arms. He carried her to the bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed, then lay down next her. Brushing her hair back from her face, he said, "And on our 983rd date, I brought you home and had a special, private welcome home party."

"Oh?" Jill asked, running her hands down Mike's chest.

"Mmm-hmmm. And you know what happened then?"

"What?" Jill asked, sliding her hands underneath Mike's shirt.

Mike placed his hand on her breast and said, "Let's find out."

[The End]


End file.
